


The Witch

by Clarisse (transnymphtaire)



Series: Advent Calendar 2016 [17]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dimension Travel, Hearts, Immortality, M/M, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 08:52:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8884675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transnymphtaire/pseuds/Clarisse
Summary: The first words your soulmate will say to you are tattooed onto your body the moment they've been born.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I love this idea a lot, and I tried my best to wrap it together.
> 
> Unbetaed, but actually proofread for once.

Little Hangleton is by no means the most respectable town, but the locals feel deep pride for the town’s history. Visitors of the town rarely go more than a few hours untold. It’s the story of a witch that sold her heart to the devil, so that she could protect the land from giants, and it’s the story of a witch who fell in love with nature and planted her heart in the earth to grow the forest surrounding the town, and it’s the story of a witch who was dying until a lord in the town saved her, and as a token of her gratefulness, she blessed the town for as long as the lord’s family remained.

As with most stories, some of the details has changed over time. The stories of Little Hangleton has remained mostly true, depending on how you decide to look at them.

When the town was new and still growing, there was only two families living there. The first had riches, and used these to build a mansion upon a hill. The second had nothing but what they could make themselves.

The first family had a man, his wife, a son, and a grandchild. The second consisted only of a boy and his dying mother. Heartbroken at the thought of losing his mother, the boy sought out the giants in hope that they could provide medicine. He came back a week later, clothes drenched in blood and hair matted, but with herbs full of magic in his arms. The herbs were used in a soup that he fed his mother each night, until she was no longer dying. The boy planted the rest of the herbs, and a magical garden blossomed under his touch. He spent hours taking care of it, and started venturing into the forest in search of other magical plants. After a while, the forest also blossomed as he cared for it. The first family started to accuse him of witchcraft, and told neighbouring towns that he had sold his heart to the devil. The boy brushed their accusations off; he still had his heart in his chest though he fed his love to all of nature’s children. Everything was fine in their little town; two families slowly became more, until not only houses but also stores made up the town square. The boy built his own little shop, where he started to sell the herbs that he harvested.

Then came the day when both the man and the wife from the first family succumbed to illness. The boy offered his herbs, but was turned away by the son. He kept offering each day as the man and wife’s illness grew worse. At last the grandchild agreed to his offer, but not without demanding that their family would never fall ill again, to keep the boy away. The boy agreed - generous as he was - and provided both herbs and blessing.

Sadly, blessings can’t do much against old age. The grandchild rudely entered the boy’s garden - where the boy was as usual tending to his plants - the day after the wife passed away, and demanded that the boy would pay. The boy, whose own mother was growing old and fragile, offered nothing. The enraged grandchild decided to see for himself if the boy really had sold his heart to the devil, and cut the boy’s chest open. The boy did nothing as the grandchild ripped the heart out and threw it on the ground, leaving just as enraged as he came. The boy carefully buried his heart in the middle of his garden, and picked some herbs to replace its place in his chest. Nature showed him pity, and allowed him to live for as long as the boy continued to care for her.

Years passed. The boy’s mother passed away, as did the man and son of the first family. The grandchild married, as did his children. The blessing on the first family kept strong, as the boy never went back on his word.

The boy never aged; he spent his days tending to his shop and his garden. The descendants of the first family never entered, as the story of him being a witch was passed down from parent to child.

* * *

The bell to his shop chimes. It’s not an unusual happenstance, as his shop is rather popular. It does help that it simultaneously exist in two dimensions; something that took him years to realise. When Little Hangleton first was created, the two dimensions were one and the same; he does not quite know when or how they split into two, but he find himself lucky that his shop exists in both. It makes for good business. He’s only a bit worried about which one his heart is planted in, as he is dependent on it to a certain degree. The other worry is that the split brought with it soulmates to both dimensions, and he has not one but two sentences tattooed onto his skin.

“Do you not usually greet your customers?”

He looks up at the voice, shocked to find the eldest child of the Riddle family in front of him. More so at the likeness the young lordling hold to the one that cut his heart out. He is surprisingly not shocked that the words match the ones written in beautiful cursive around his navel. It was partly expected, as both his sets of words showed up the day that the other was born, though it could have been a mere coincidence. He did not expect them to ever meet, if he should be honest.

“I do, but I don’t usually get visited by anyone bearing the name Riddle.”

“Yes, there’s that silly story of you selling your heart for witchcraft.” There’s a slight pause before the response, but no comment about the words that the young lordling must have recognised from his own tattoo.

“You don’t believe in witchcraft?” he asked, curious as to what business the young lordling possibly could have in his shop, as it did not seem to revolve around soulmates. The shop was after all named _The Witch_ , in honour of the actions that had brought him here.

“I certainly believe in witchcraft; you look not a day older now than you did when I was a mere child. What I don’t believe in is that you sold your heart to achieve it.”

“It was a gift, though there certainly was a price involved.”

The bell chimes once more, and he looks up to see a regular customer from the other dimension. It’s not a customer that he particularly cares for, as they have never exchanged a single word, and the customer is a descendant of the awful Gaunt family. He holds no fond memories of the family that actually sold their hearts to the devil for witchcraft when they first settled in Little Hangleton, and has continued to do so since. Or they have in that dimension at least; he does not know what became of the Gaunts in the other one.

“I expect you to tell me more about it later; I should return home. Before though, what is your name?” the young lordling questions.

“Harry.” he answers with a kind, though small smile. “Just Harry.”

The young lordling nods, and place a farewell kiss on his hand before leaving. Harry turn to watch the other customer. The Gaunt descendant has been staring unpleasantly at his interaction with the young Riddle, and Harry has no patience for that kind of thing. He will not break their unspoken agreement of silence though, and as such content himself with watching.

“What was the price?” the Gaunt descendant asks as the silence between them starts to grow uncomfortable. The words are not the innocent ones that Harry had grown to expect from the ones on the inner side of his left foot; they’re almost demanding. He had hoped that they would have belonged to someone else, though he did do the same assumption as he did with the young Riddle.

“Blood of giants, stolen herbs, and a buried heart.” Harry answer, the words less nonchalant than he want them to come out. He has never been one for lying, but sometimes he’s able to play the truth off as a joke. This is not one of those times.

“Do you still have it?”

“The heart? Yes.”

The Gaunt descendant smiles, and Harry can’t help but shiver.

“I hope you have hidden it well; the devil has a knack for finding hearts.”

“Are you speaking as the one without a heart or as the devil?”

“Both.” the Gaunt descendant answer. “Lord Voldemort at your service, Harry.”

“Allow me to kindly refuse. Unless you’re buying anything, I want you to leave.” Harry answer. He feels uncomfortable, and can’t help but wonder if his buried heart is beating faster of fear or not. Herbs does not give him a pulse.

Voldemort smile once more, and leaves, but not before his eyes has wandered slowly along Harry’s body. He wish that he had moved behind the counter earlier, but he was stocking new wares when young Riddle entered.

Harry close the shop early that day.

* * *

Having a shop in two dimensions bring with it certain problems; he has two gardens to tend to, and he never know which dimension he’ll enter when he leaves the shop-building. While his customers always return to the dimension that they came from, Harry is not offered the same luxury.There’s no real pattern to it either, but he always seem to end up in the dimension with the most opportunities.

Opportunities for who though, is a question he must ask as he ends up walking straight into Voldemort.

“I asked you to leave.” is the first thing Harry think of to say.

“I did.” Voldemort point out, and takes the liberty to sneak his arms around Harry’s waist. “You never specified that I needed to leave more than the building.”

“Right now I wish for you to leave the town.” Harry mutters, but lean his forehead against Voldemort’s chest all the same. He’s far too old for the dramatics of soulmates, and he has seen both Voldemort and young Riddle grow up from afar. Let him be affectionate when the opportunity present itself - he’s exhausted to the very bone.

“Only if you leave with me. You have my words, you belong to me.” Voldemort answers into his hair. Harry does not feel as uncomfortable as he thought he would at Voldemort inhaling his scent.

“You’re not my only soulmate.” he answer, and tilt his head upward just in time to catch the tensing of Voldemort’s jaw.

“It’s the boy from the shop, is it not?” Voldemort demands, arms tensing around Harry’s waist. Harry pulls free from the embrace and turn to head back from his shop.

“The only one that owns me is mother nature.” he calls over his shoulder, though it’s not an answer to the question that he was asked. He can hear Voldemort following, but does not pay it any mind. If he enter the shop and then leave again, odds are that he’ll enter the other dimension. It’s not guaranteed, but Harry doubts he has any opportunities left in this one at the moment.

* * *

It’s undoubtedly the other dimension that he enters, but Voldemort has caught his arm and is following him through the door.

“This is not Little Hangleton.” Voldemort let go of his arm in favour of looking around cautiously.

“Another dimension.” Harry explains simply. “You must have seen the warning on the shop door.”

“Yes, but I never expected to be able to hop between them. It has never happened before.”

“You have not gripped onto the witch before either.” Harry points out. “You should go back though.”

“No. I want to meet the boy.” Voldemort walks past him, toward the mansion on the hill. “If I live in the mansion of my dimension, then he must live in this one.”

“What happened to the Riddle family of your dimension?” Harry asks, as he catches up to walk beside Voldemort. “My memories are meddled.”

“My mother bewitched the heir into marrying her, but he broke free from it while she was pregnant with me. Having enough of witches, the Riddles moved away. I took over the mansion when I was old enough.”

“Huh. I should probably remove the blessing on the mansion then. They never moved before, and blessing a mansion is easier than blessing a family.”

“I’m still a Riddle, though I do not go by that name.” Voldemort pointed out. “Do you wish me to fall ill?”

Harry gave him a quick glance, but didn’t answer. Instead he hurried his pace, as Riddle mansion started to tower over them. He sincerely doubted that he would be welcome by anyone but the young lordling, but they could not rightly tell him to leave with the words around his navel. Soulmates were honoured in both dimensions. Speaking of..

“Why did your mother bewitch him, when soulmates exist?”

“Are you saying that people cannot fall in love with other people?” Voldemort questioned. “Not that I think highly of love, but it does have the ability to drive people.”

“Do I need remind you that I have no heart in my chest?”

“Neither did she. Neither do I.” Voldemort answer with a graceful shrug. “Does it really change anything?”

“Heartless love is not real.”

“Which is why you’ve waited for a soulmate, I take it.”

“There were no soulmates when I was young. They were created in the split.”

They’ve reached the door to Riddle mansion, and Harry rings the bell before Voldemort can answer. It’s just as well, as he dislikes talking about it. He has not ever had to do so before, and has no plans on beginning to do so now.

The door is opened by a servant girl that takes one look at him and then runs away. She leaves the door open behind her, and Harry takes it as an invitation to step inside. He has never promised to stay away from the house, he has only agreed to not offer herbs to anyone living there if they fell ill, and as he blessed the house, no one has fallen ill anyway. Harry simply kept away as they quite rudely showed that they wanted nothing to do with him, but that was before one of them entered his shop and turned out to be his soulmate.

Voldemort is following him closely as Harry start to ascend the staircase that takes up the entryway. He’s not sure where he’s going, but up seems like a good idea. If the mansion look the same as the one Voldemort lives in, then they’re unlikely to get lost so it does not matter where he goes.

“If you’re searching for me, you went too far.” an amused voice calls from behind them. Harry turns around to see the young Riddle standing at the bottom of the stairs.

“I would have asked for you, but you never left your name and the servant girl ran away.” Harry answer as he starts descending the staircase. Voldemort is still following, but closer this time.

“My sincere apologies. You may call me Tom.”

“Thank you. Shall we take this to a place with more privacy?” Harry suggests.

“Your shop is likely the safest place, dear.” Voldemort says and place a claiming arm around Harry’s waist. Tom raises an eyebrow at the action but say nothing. Harry smiles apologetically at him.

* * *

Voldemort and Tom looks out of place, sitting around Harry’s kitchen table. The shop on the floor underneath them is once more closed and locked. Harry is standing by the window, which overlooks his garden. His eyes are resting on the heart of the garden, a place marked with a rock underneath which his heart is buried and beating.

“So we’re both your soulmates,” Tom starts. “And apparently at the core the same person, but with the circumstances of different dimensions.”

“Yes, I think that’s one way to explain it,” Harry mumbles, eyes not leaving the rock in his garden. “When the dimension split into two, it did not create new life but copied the already existing one. You two have the same ancestors in name only, as they’ve chosen different paths in the two dimensions.”

“And the reason that you exist in both?” Voldemort asked.

“My life is one of a kind.” Harry answered, his tone more bitter than he would have liked it. He turns his back to the window at last. “Truly though; you two will grow old, and I will simply… not.”

“What if you dig up your heart?” Tom suggested. “It’s the herbs that are keeping you immortal as they’re a direct connection to nature, is it not?”

Harry tilts his head to the side as he considers it. How strange, that the idea has never once crossed his mind… He’s not too sure that he want to dig his heart up, that he want to experience love. It’s been so long after all… would he be able to survive it?

“You don’t have to.” Voldemort interrupts his thoughts. “I have sold my heart already, but Tom can give his to nature.”

“No.” Harry decides. “I will do it.” What he doesn’t say is that he doesn’t want to risk anyone’s life but his own.

* * *

His garden has never seemed as daunting as it does now. Harry is kneeling by the stone, his hands pressed against the ground. He can feel his pulse through the earth. Is he really willing to do this now? He has seen both of his soulmates grow up, but he does not know them. Throwing everything away, the gift that nature has given him, for two people just like that… he does not feel comfortable with it. Not at all.

There’s a knife on the ground in front of him, meant to be used to cut up his chest. Harry glances at it, and an idea writes itself out in his mind. He moves the stone and digs up his heart.

Before Voldemort or Tom can react, Harry has lifted the knife and cut his heart into three pieces. Each individual piece still beats, and he thanks nature that he did not accidentally kill himself.

He buries one of the pieces again, then he stands up. Wordlessly, he press one piece of his heart into Voldemort’s hands and the other into Tom’s.

“I couldn’t do it.” he says, although the words are useless as his actions have spoken loud enough already.

“We would not have forced you to.” Tom answers.

“It’s your heart to do with as you wish.” Voldemort agrees.

Harry smiles at them.

“And I wish to be stupid and give it to the two of you, and to nature, because you two are my soulmates, and nature is my true love.”

* * *

Little Hangleton is a town built on stories, and as it grows new stories are added to its history.

There’s a story of a shop owned by a witch, who exist in two dimensions. The witch buried his heart to show his love for nature, until he fell in love with one soulmate from each dimension. Unwilling to age without them, yet unwilling to give nature her gift back for mortality, the witch dug up his heart and cut it in three.

One piece remained with nature, his first and only true love. The second piece was given to a possessive lord who sold his own heart to the devil in favour of witchcraft, as his family had done before him. The third piece was given to the heir of the Riddle family, a polite young man with his heart intact.

There’s a story of the shop known as _The Witch_ and the three young men that has cared for it together for as long as anyone in town can remember. It’s said that the three men share the same heart, which was gifted to them by nature.

There’s a story of a boy who only wanted to save his mother from death, but got gifted eternity by nature, and spent eternity loving nature, with his soulmates by his side.

**Author's Note:**

> On one hand, I want to do so much more with this, because it's too quick, on the other I'm afraid to mess up if I use the same plot for a longer story.
> 
> Oh, and I've decided that the stories that I don't continue after Christmas will be given up for adoption.


End file.
